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birthday

And then it changed
the game
It stopped and
became
broken gates and
buried secrets

These anvils on your soul
Your name
A prayer
exhaled with conviction
arms like pillars of a city
that fell for you
hold you so tight
and ward away the crane flies
the blind assumptions
the labels
the ghosts

She would kill it all for you
a massacre for a memory
penned to a playwright’s sister
whose life was spent being
forgotten

These pillars won’t crumble
These pillars won’t break
The glass locket holding a dream
will never shatter in this place
Shards of shame fall down your face
onto this neck, this chest
But they can’t cut
this diamond armor

Do you know that she shines
only for you?
The salt and the element
faint slowly onto the transparency
of her breast plate

(You’re the only one who’s ever seen right through her.)

“Let go,” she says, “it’s poison”
And it all comes surging out
the infection, the toxin, the insecurity
these drops of disease mix with
the salt of your skin
and turn into clay
and flesh out the facets of her protection

And now when people look at her
They’ll have to see you
for this is where you’re kept
in this cage of marrow
and sinew
and electricity

You’ve brought her to life
this weary wolf
who spent so many grains of sand
changing who she was
And gods, for WHAT?
A nod?
A shrug of acceptance?
An acknowledgement of existence?

She wasn’t dead
She was only asleep

The tears spark her humanity
and she blossoms out of the ground
(That dirt wasn’t good anyway)
But she doesn’t reach for the sun
She bends to the moon
And these pillars
this mad, mad architecture
It was all built by
you